Beason’s head twisted to the left and his panic turned into pure fear when he saw Pontowski in tight formation, rolling with them. Beason had flown acrobatics, but never anything like this. A cooler head would have said, “Bandit camped at our eight o’clock.” But words totally failed him.
“ Merde! ” Johar shouted. He rolled his Marchetti to the left, doing a belly check to that side. But Pontowski had anticipated that maneuver and rolled with him, holding his position, still in Johar’s blind spot. Beason was vaguely aware of the warm feeling in his crotch as he lost control of his bladder. But the fight was far from over. The engines on both aircraft screamed in protest as the pilots kept them at full boost and dived for the ground.
“Sucker!” Pontowski shouted as he followed Johar. Much to his delight, he discovered he had even more over-take than before. He set up for a high-to-low attack followed by a high-speed overshoot. At 300 feet above the ground, Pontowski deliberately overshot Johar and nudged his nose over. He was hoping Johar would see it and do the opposite. He did. The Iraqi pulled up to reduce his speed and to add to Pontowski’s overshoot problem. But Pontowski was already pulling on the stick and rolling into Johar, countering the overshoot. He had to get rid of the speed generated by the dive and the bellowing engine. Johar instinctively turned into Pontowski as they entered a series of climbing crisscrossing nose-to-nose turns and overshoots. “We’re in a scissors,” Pontowski explainedto Emil. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Now we gotta see who can fly the slowest and get behind the other guy.” Emil laughed.
But all was not equal light and joy in Johar’s cockpit. “Knock it off!” Beason screamed. Johar ignored him as he again turned into Pontowski. Johar’s stall-warning horn was blaring as their airspeed decayed. But Beason’s screaming drowned it out. Suddenly, at 2,000 feet above the ground, Johar’s Marchetti departed controlled flight and snapped inverted, entering an upside-down spin.
Pontowski zoomed clear and radioed, “Knock it off and recover.”
Getting out of an inverted spin is tricky and requires a series of actions best described as unnatural acts. Fortunately, Johar was an accomplished pilot, knew what to do, and had enough altitude to recover. But Beason decided to vote and cast his ballot by doing what appeared normal. He stepped on the rudder pedal opposite the rotation and pushed the stick forward in the sequence required to recover from an upright spin. The result was to raise the Marchetti’s nose and put them into a fully developed inverted spin.
By the second full turn, Pontowski knew the Marchetti was in trouble and yelled the recovery procedure over the radio. “Step on the pedal that has resistance! Back pressure on the stick!” He watched the Marchetti enter the third turn and tasted bile in the back of his mouth. His instincts told him what his mind rejected: Adwan and Beason were dead.
The Marchetti smashed into the ground upside down at the 2,000-feet-remaining mark on Runway 12 Left, well inside the aerial demonstration box.
Pontowski banged his fist against the canopy rail. “God damn it to hell!”
Emil touched his arm, trying to calm him. “It was combat, my friend.”
“This is peacetime,” was all Pontowski could think of.
“We are never at peace,” the Pole answered.
THREE
The White House
Dennis, Madeline Turner’s personal assistant, stood in front of her desk in the Oval Office, his hands clasped in front of him as they went over her daily schedule in detail. Richard Parrish, her chief of staff, sat on a couch making notes. “Dennis,” Turner said, “for God’s sake, at least look like you’re taking notes. It makes me more comfortable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dennis replied. He turned to business, not the least chastened. “Mr. Serick and Mrs. Hazelton are first on the agenda and waiting
“ Merde! ” Johar shouted. He rolled his Marchetti to the left, doing a belly check to that side. But Pontowski had anticipated that maneuver and rolled with him, holding his position, still in Johar’s blind spot. Beason was vaguely aware of the warm feeling in his crotch as he lost control of his bladder. But the fight was far from over. The engines on both aircraft screamed in protest as the pilots kept them at full boost and dived for the ground.
“Sucker!” Pontowski shouted as he followed Johar. Much to his delight, he discovered he had even more over-take than before. He set up for a high-to-low attack followed by a high-speed overshoot. At 300 feet above the ground, Pontowski deliberately overshot Johar and nudged his nose over. He was hoping Johar would see it and do the opposite. He did. The Iraqi pulled up to reduce his speed and to add to Pontowski’s overshoot problem. But Pontowski was already pulling on the stick and rolling into Johar, countering the overshoot. He had to get rid of the speed generated by the dive and the bellowing engine. Johar instinctively turned into Pontowski as they entered a series of climbing crisscrossing nose-to-nose turns and overshoots. “We’re in a scissors,” Pontowski explainedto Emil. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Now we gotta see who can fly the slowest and get behind the other guy.” Emil laughed.
But all was not equal light and joy in Johar’s cockpit. “Knock it off!” Beason screamed. Johar ignored him as he again turned into Pontowski. Johar’s stall-warning horn was blaring as their airspeed decayed. But Beason’s screaming drowned it out. Suddenly, at 2,000 feet above the ground, Johar’s Marchetti departed controlled flight and snapped inverted, entering an upside-down spin.
Pontowski zoomed clear and radioed, “Knock it off and recover.”
Getting out of an inverted spin is tricky and requires a series of actions best described as unnatural acts. Fortunately, Johar was an accomplished pilot, knew what to do, and had enough altitude to recover. But Beason decided to vote and cast his ballot by doing what appeared normal. He stepped on the rudder pedal opposite the rotation and pushed the stick forward in the sequence required to recover from an upright spin. The result was to raise the Marchetti’s nose and put them into a fully developed inverted spin.
By the second full turn, Pontowski knew the Marchetti was in trouble and yelled the recovery procedure over the radio. “Step on the pedal that has resistance! Back pressure on the stick!” He watched the Marchetti enter the third turn and tasted bile in the back of his mouth. His instincts told him what his mind rejected: Adwan and Beason were dead.
The Marchetti smashed into the ground upside down at the 2,000-feet-remaining mark on Runway 12 Left, well inside the aerial demonstration box.
Pontowski banged his fist against the canopy rail. “God damn it to hell!”
Emil touched his arm, trying to calm him. “It was combat, my friend.”
“This is peacetime,” was all Pontowski could think of.
“We are never at peace,” the Pole answered.
THREE
The White House
Dennis, Madeline Turner’s personal assistant, stood in front of her desk in the Oval Office, his hands clasped in front of him as they went over her daily schedule in detail. Richard Parrish, her chief of staff, sat on a couch making notes. “Dennis,” Turner said, “for God’s sake, at least look like you’re taking notes. It makes me more comfortable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dennis replied. He turned to business, not the least chastened. “Mr. Serick and Mrs. Hazelton are first on the agenda and waiting
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